


Unsweet

by Kansola



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-25
Updated: 2012-04-25
Packaged: 2017-11-04 07:18:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kansola/pseuds/Kansola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things she must do. None of them are sweet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [namelessamelie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/namelessamelie/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This work is intended to be a transformative commentary on the original. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Many thanks to my beta lady_of_clunn for helping me score a home run--or at least first base--with this pinch-hit. To namelessamelie: this is hardly the granddaddy Cadillac of gifts, but given my admiration, I wanted you to at least have a $5.00 gas card.

 

With inhumane composure, Hermione clutched at her extended arm carefully avoiding the jarring bone. She squeezed past the gelatinous fat and pressed hard into the flesh trying to inhibit circulation. The pain was no worse than the previous times she’d broken bone, and in a fit of sullen pettiness, she let the dripping blood soak into the silk bed sheets, trail on the floor, and stain the discarded clothes as she searched for a wand.

With her one good arm and both good legs she moved and kicked objects out of her away. The pain had ceased throbbing and was now pulsating and whirling in her limb, making her search sloppy with growing frustration. Nerve endings were alarmingly excited, jumpy, cross routing without imperative, and searing her brain with unyielding information and white, hot heat. She shook her head to clear the ants from her vision. The agony was consuming her attention, muddling her thoughts, and pushing her towards an unwholesome void. If she could not treat the injury within the next few minutes, her body would go into shock, and she was certain Malfoy would let her die.

She would be humiliated.

Feeling especially vindictive at his callousness and forthcoming insult, Hermione delivered a vicious kick to his unconscious form. She watched his scarred body flop off the floor on impact and drop down like the dead quarry of a hunter’s game. The exquisite thud appeased the perceived effrontery, and to her churlish delight the slight movement of the weakened, but ferocious kick revealed a wand, hopefully hers.

Dropping gracelessly to her knees, Hermione leaned cautiously forward bracing herself against Draco's exposed chest. Taking loud, expansive breaths she steady herself, calming the up-churning panic before attempting to push his body over. She shoved carelessly, then with might. Her failing upper body strength resulted in nothing more than further strain and exhaustion. Her exertions had no impact on Malfoy’s dense weight or his unnatural slumber. He lay unmovable and uncaring to her imminent death.

Time outpaced her. Her thinking was slow, disorganized, and utterly worthless. Giving up, she eased her body over, felt the cool wood on her back, the coagulated blood on stomach, the semen on her thigh. She kicked.

Piecemeal, his limp body shifted.

Biting her lip, she kicked again. Forcibly.

Hermione ignored his groans. She ignored the wasteful copper taste in her mouth. She ignored the splinters being imbedded in her back and the wave fatigued that threatened to quell her activity.

She ignored and she kicked, and tears fell from her eyes as she worried about her diminishing progress and the wand moving in tandem with his body. He was going to kill her.

Hermione kicked, forgot to ignore. Memories filled with deceit, malice, and a desire to harm washed over her and clouded her vision until there was only red, then black. It inked into soul pooling at her center, corrupting her passion, defiling her grace and choked the last breaths of her humanity.

She shot up with an onslaught of nausea, screaming.

“NO!”

Hermione cast about. Grabbing hold of the exposed wand, she cast the spell _Bracchium Emendo._ Upon watching the bones fuse together, she fell back, and eagerly fainted.

Malfoy awoke, naked, shivering, and bruised. Taking in sight of the superfluous mess and the nearness of Granger, he scowled. It was evident that she had clearly bled all over their fucking chambers and that he would have to replace everything. Getting up, he slipped on his shirt, ruffling his hair. Astoria would expect him no later than eight for her mother’s event and it was clear that Hermione had induced him with a sleeping aide.

He had no time to spare. In a moment of unexamined kindness, he forsook asphyxiation to engage her and lifted her legs. “Accio belt.” He took hold of the leather, thick and worn, and with a sturdy grasp, unfurled it onto Hermione’s plump, round arse.

With a shattering scream, Draco watched her come alive.

“Get off me.” Her voice was hoarse, but undeniably laced with outrage.

Taking it as his cue, Draco took her foot and slid it to his groin. In languorous circles, he rubbed her foot along his prick, smirking as Hermione clenched her fist at her sides. He could envision crude, filthy words, dropping from her tongue, coloring her cheeks, making her nipples tighten. When she tried to shimmy her foot from his grasp, Draco tightened his clutch on her ankle.

“Not so fast, Granger.”

Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the dry, soft, and lined skin of her underfoot. It was oddly taut and he glided the arched appendage down the length of his cock, and over the head wetting it with come before slicking the foot back and forth and in figure eights. In mindless pants, Draco began huffing and his eyes closed on their own accord. His body lurched erotically forward, creating primal friction, as he lost himself in his solitary pleasure.

Hermione silently seethed as her foot unwittingly stimulated Draco’s throbbing erection. When he finally came, she didn’t care how much longer after or if the stars exploded under his eyes, Hermione smeared the ejaculation on his thigh. Jerking her foot out of his grasp, she awkwardly pushed up on her good arm, and stood. With all the fire, brimstone, and scorn she could summon within her petite frame, she reached out and slapped him clear across his boyish face.

“You broke my sodding arm, Malfoy.”

“I can’t say you didn’t have it coming.” He rubbed at his jaw, a smug expression beginning to blossom. A smirk played at his feature before continuing, “It’s my sincerest hope that the pain crippled you.”

Hermione smiled nastily. “Then your disappointment will make my recovery all the speedier.”

She would not allow him the sick satisfaction in knowing how close she came to drawing her last, miserable breath as he lay passed out and ignorant on floor. He would relish the lurid tale, call it _fate_ for her misdeeds, and mock her for being stupid enough to turn a _harmless_ tryst into a life-and-death situation. No, she would not tell him. He knew too much about her as it were--had put his fingers in her honey pot, stirred it slowly, and smeared it along the darkened corridors of her past.

He was an incurable, parasitic tumor on her person and as sinister as the Dark Mark. He was vile, loathsome, and beyond redemption, too greedy to practice charity and too covetous not to touch. He was a cold hearted bastard, and no matter how fall she had fallen she was still too decent to swear lightly.

Hermione sucked the saliva down, tried hard not to spit, so low she esteemed his character. She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, specks of crusted blood flecking off. Frustrated, she held her mending arm to her chest, aware that she had drawn the attention of the room’s other occupant.

“Thinking about me, Granger?”

She pursed her lips, turning swiftly to face Draco from the pile of tangled clothes. “Not at all. Just reviewing all the communicable diseases I’ve had. Hoping one will dismember you.”

“I beg to differ. Having fucked you in the arse, all this _extra_ time together is just—” he pause, drawing out the insult, “you being a plaything.”

Hermione was not persuaded by his sentiment. He was a liar and a cheat. “And you’re just an unhappy little pureblood with a little leverage and no idea what to do with it. I’m a ‘plaything’ because _you’re_ a child.”

Slipping on the last of her garments and fishing her wedding ring from her pocket, Hermione turned to Draco. She hated this man.

“Can I get you anything else, _boss?"_

He looked unperturbed, somewhat gleeful. “Just a lollipop.”


End file.
